


two people (sitting doing nothing)

by Athina_Blaine



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Character, Discussions of Asexuality, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, athina finally uses a lyric from no choir and weeps with joy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25443574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athina_Blaine/pseuds/Athina_Blaine
Summary: Jon had many plans for that night. The lasagne, yes. A bottle of merlot he had been keeping safe in his pantry, waiting for a special occasion. To, ah … initiate such a special occasion in the first place.With Martin. As a surprise.Tonight.He took in a shuddering breath, a heavy knot sitting on his throat.He was … excited.Yes?Obviously, he was.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 41
Kudos: 428





	two people (sitting doing nothing)

**Author's Note:**

> For [chalroe.](https://chalroe.tumblr.com/)

What was it about a clock that _knew_ when you wanted time to go faster, only to slow to a crawl out of spite?

Helpless, Jon stared at his computer. The ridiculous thing must be broken. It’s been 4:23 for the past five minutes.

Today, of all days, he really, _really_ would rather time go just a little bit faster. His mind, useless thing that it was, had already left him behind, racing hours into the future where he was already in the safe warmth of Martin’s living room, tucking away the certain-to-be delicious lasagne Jon planned to prepare.

Jon had many plans for that night. The lasagne, yes. A bottle of merlot he had been keeping safe in his pantry, waiting for a special occasion. To, ah … initiate such a special occasion in the first place.

With Martin. As a surprise.

_Tonight._

He took in a shuddering breath, a heavy knot sitting on his throat.

He was … _excited_.

Yes?

Obviously, he was.

Finally, the clock decided to cooperate with him. 4:30 at last.

Standing up, rolling out his aching shoulders, he packed up his desk. If they were prompt, they might be able to beat rush hour on the way to the mart.

In the assistant’s office, he found Martin slumped over his desk, head resting on folded arms and snoring softly. The foolish man had stayed up all night to help Jon with his reports so that Jon could go to sleep a little bit early.

A wave of affection crashed over Jon, nearly closing his throat and stopping his heart.

Rounding the desk, he draped his hands over Martin’s shoulders, rubbing his thumbs in slow circles until the man blinked awake with a snuffle. Jon pressed a kiss to his temple.

“I see Basira is running a tight ship back here.”

Martin snorted, pushing up his glasses to rub at his eyes.

“She does, when she’s actually here.”

Jon hummed, and continued to gently massage Martin’s shoulders. Jon was really going to have to start bullying him in earnest about his posture; even Jon’s back wasn’t _this_ knotted. A low sound rumbled in Martin’s chest, his eyes drifting shut.

“Stop that,” he said, lowering his head back to his arms. “I’m going to fall asleep again.”

“Yes, that would be a problem, considering you’re the one with the driver’s licence.”

Martin nodded, but still did nothing to stop Jon’s gentle ministrations. Must Jon do _all_ the work around here? He allowed his hands to slide off Martin’s shoulders, earning himself a token protest, despite earlier complaints. Jon rewarded him with a clap on his arm.

“Come on, then, I’m very enamoured with the idea of _not_ sitting in traffic for an extra half hour if I can help it.”

“Okay, _okay_ , I’m getting up,” Martin said, getting to his feet. He stretched, rising to the balls of his feet with a yawn. “Bossy.”

“I _am_ your boss.”

“Not right now, you aren’t. The weekend has officially started.”

Okay, he could have that one. Jon was in a good mood, after all. Taking Martin’s hand, earning himself a pair of lifted, surprised brows, which then caused his own face to colour, he led them both out of the Institute.

Everything had to go perfectly. Jon wouldn’t stand for anything less.

Jon was crouching over his phone, trying to calculate the conversions from cups to millilitres in his head ( _why_ did all the good recipe websites _insist_ on the imperial system?) when a clattering drew his attention. With a sharp bark, he held out his stirring spoon.

“ _Out!_ ”

With a yelp, Martin jumped back from the bubbling sauce pot. He lifted his hands defensively.

“I just wanted to see how things were going.”

“Rest assured, I have things entirely under control.”

“I’ll say.” Martin peeked into the pot where the tomato sauce was bubbling. “Oh, that sausage looks really good. Have you added the basil yet?”

He reached for the tasting spoon, but before he could grab it, Jon gave him a good whack with his tool. Martin clutched his injured hand.

“ _Ow!_ ”

“Come on, on your merry way,” Jon said, bullying him out of the kitchen. “You’re going to ruin your palate before I even get a chance to serve the meal.”

“Oh, come on, at least let me stir the cheese. Please?”

Martin pouted, eyes wide and imploring, but Jon had been prepared for this and didn’t falter. What he hadn’t prepared for, however, was Martin planting a kiss right on his mouth. He flinched back.

“What are you—?”

Martin fluttered his lashes, the picture of innocence.

 _Ah._ Jon crossed his arms.

“That isn’t going to work.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Martin kissed him again, a little sweeter, a little bit longer. “I’m just a guy kissing his boyfriend, is all.”

How dare this man lie _directly_ to his face?

But it was hard to summon the proper outrage when Martin kissed him again. He snaked his hands under Jon’s arms, pressing him against the counter. Mmm. Oh, he was quite good at this. When Martin slowly pulled away, Jon chased after him, grunting when Martin held him back.

Martin smirked, and it was positively devilish.

“ _Please_ let me in the kitchen?”

Right. The food. Jon had almost forgotten.

 _Damn_ this man.

With a sigh, he handed over his stirring spoon.

“Fine. _Just_ stir the cheese.”

With a little _whoop_ , Martin took the spoon and made for the tub of ricotta. Jon rubbed the bridge of his nose. When had he gotten so _soft?_ Though, he supposed he shouldn’t be too harsh on himself. Who could reasonably be expected to ignore those eyes?

Cracking open the tub, Martin tipped the cheese into the mixing bowl, humming a song Jon could probably recognize if he thought about it long enough. Another tidal wave of something sappy and far too sentimental crashed into his heart, and he returned to his sauce pot.

The lasagne came out _perfectly_ , Martin said. He also insisted his palate was as clear as ever, so he could taste every delicious flavour as it came through, despite Jon's fears. Jon maintained he had every right to be worried, but was willing to concede the point.

When they had finished their meal, Jon retrieved the bottle of wine.

“The _merlot?_ ” Martin said, eyebrows lifting.

Jon nodded, heart puttering erratically. Martin _had_ to have guessed by now that he was planning something, but Jon still didn’t say anything as he poured their glasses. With a little grin, Martin held his up and they both clinked them together. The sound rang loud in Jon’s ears.

When they had gotten halfway through the bottle, a light flush having already risen to Martin’s cheeks, he poked Jon's shoulder.

“Okay, what’s the deal? Did Elias give you the deed to the Institute or something?”

“God forbid. You think I’d open my expensive wine for a tragedy like that?”

“So then what’s got you all, I don’t know, _nervous?_ ”

Nervous? Jon wasn’t _nervous._ This was the most excited he’s ever been, about anything.

 _Did_ he seem nervous?

That … couldn’t be right.

Jon licked his lips. He hadn’t planned on initiating the next step until they were curled up together on the couch, watching _the Bachelor_ , but, rather suddenly, he was consumed with the urge to get things _started._

Swiftly, he leaned over and pressed his mouth over Martin’s wine stained lips.

Martin jumped a bit, making a quiet noise of surprise, but it wasn’t long before his eyes slid shut. His kissing was soft and slow with the wine and the satisfaction of a good, heavy meal, and Jon’s stomach flipped.

Okay.

Okay, okay, okay, okay.

He reached up and undid the top button of Martin’s shirt.

That _really_ startled Martin this time, however, as he pulled back, eyes flying open.

“What—?”

Swallowing, Jon said nothing, just staring. Martin’s face went slack with realisation. Jon leaned back in, but was stopped when Martin pressed his hand over Jon's mouth.

“Wait, wait, let me just– You’re trying to …?”

“Initiate sex? Yes.”

“Oh.” For whatever reason, Martin’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

What kind of question was that? Of _course_ Jon was bloody sure. It’s been the only thing Jon’s been thinking about for the past two weeks. _Am I sure_ , feh. His hands _shook_ with the weight of how sure he was.

With a quick nod, he leaned back in for a deeper, harder kiss, undoing the second button of Martin’s shirt. Grabbing the sleeves of Martin's jumper, he pulled them both up to standing.

Should he push Martin towards the bedroom or allow himself to be pushed? In his head, he imagined himself as the more dominant one, lying over Martin as they fell into his soft bed, but he hadn’t expected how badly his legs would be shaking.

He started backing into the hallway. They just needed to make it to the bedroom. He glanced behind his shoulder. Had the hallway always been so long and narrow?

“Jon?”

He turned back to Martin. “What?”

“You know, I’m happy to let you just borrow my hands, if that’s what you want?”

What was he talking about? But then, Jon realised how tightly he had been clenching Martin’s wrists. Horrified, he dropped them. Massaging his doubtlessly bruised skin, Martin looked at him with wide, concerned eyes.

Jon swallowed.

This … this wasn’t going the way that he had imagined it.

“I’ll be right back.”

Backing away, trying to ignore the sinking pit in his stomach, Jon hurried to the toilet, closing the door with a definitive click. Crouching over the sink, he stared into the mirror, stomach churning. He was beginning to regret choosing something as dense as lasagne to make for dinner.

What just _happened?_

He had been kissing Martin, and it had been great, as it always was. He _loved_ kissing Martin. Top 5 favourite activities, in fact. So, why did things feel … _off?_ Why was he suddenly so _stressed?_

Had he been putting too much pressure on himself?

There was a knock at the door and Jon flinched.

“You doing okay in there?”

Giving himself only a moment to brace himself, Jon opened the door, and Martin peeked inside. Was it too late to play dumb? Probably. He sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For …” Jon’s face warmed, “ _fleeing_.”

“That was a bit of a scamper you did, I must admit.”

Jon shoved at him weakly, earning a chuckle. Some of the nausea lifted from his stomach. If Martin was feeling comfortable enough to joke about the utterly mortifying situation Jon had flung himself into, then it couldn’t have been all that bad, could it?

Martin held out his hand, which, after a second's hesitation, Jon took, letting himself be led out of the toilet and towards the sofa.

“So,” Martin said as he sat them both down, taking both of Jon’s hands in his, “what’s going on in that ridiculous head of yours?”

“My head is not ridiculous.”

“You’re right, it’s a very good head.” Martin kissed the bridge of his nose. “I meant to say, what’s going on in that ridiculous _brain_ of yours?”

Jon scoffed, but couldn’t quite find it in himself to retort the way he usually would. He squeezed Martin’s hands.

“I … wanted to have sex tonight.”

“Past tense?”

Lips twisting, Jon nodded, humiliation welling up in his throat. They would have already been in Martin’s bed, taking off each other’s clothes, if Jon hadn’t gotten in the bloody way.

“So,” Martin said, “that’s why you made lasagne and cracked open the merlot?”

“That’s correct.” At the very least, having everything out in the open bled some of the tension out of Jon’s shoulders. “I had been planning this for a few weeks now. I don’t know why I …”

“Panicked?”

“I did not _panic_.”

“If you had seen your face just then, you’d call it panicking, too.”

Well, it was hard to argue against that. The feeling that had welled up inside him had certainly felt a little like panic, in hindsight. “I’m sorry. I … I hadn’t tried something like this with Georgie, but I figured ... I don’t know why I’m being so weird about it.”

“You’re not being weird.” Martin tucked in a strand of Jon's wild hair. “Let’s try taking a step back, maybe. What exactly are you hoping to, well,” Martin grappled to find the word, “ _accomplish?_ ”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Martin shook his head, and Jon breathed an irritated sigh through his nose.

“I mean, why else does anyone want to have sex? You do it with someone you love and you both make each other feel good, yes? It’s pretty self-explanatory.”

“I mean, okay, sex feels good. But eating spicy food feels good, too, right? At least, it makes _me_ feel good. But it makes you feel awful, and that's okay, yeah?”

Oh, so they were doing a food metaphor now, were they? Jon frowned.

“One could make the argument I'm not making enough of an effort to expand my palate, though.”

“Yeah, but only an arsehole would force someone to eat something they know they don’t like.”

“But I don’t want to deny _you_ your favourite meal, either.”

“Okay, _favourite meal_ is a bit much. And besides, you’re not _denying_ me anything. There’s plenty of other things to eat.” He nuzzled his forehead into Jon’s shoulder. “Like going to the mart. Cooking dinner together. Shoulder rubs.”

Despite how miserable he felt, Jon snorted. “I think the metaphor is getting a little confused, here.”

Laughing, Martin straightened, squeezing Jon’s hands.

“Look, Jon. I kind of already guessed that you felt this way. _No_ , shsh,” he said quickly when Jon opened his mouth. “I’ve known you for five years and we’ve been dating for six months. The closest we’ve ever gotten to second base was when you slipped in the shower while I was washing your hair.”

Ah, Jon remembered that. He’d sported a bruise on his backside that lasted two weeks as a result. There had also been some … grappling, he recalled with a blush.

“The point is,” Martin said, dragging a finger over Jon’s chin, “if it never happens, in any capacity, that’s okay. I’m honestly fine with it.”

Humming, Jon looked down at their joined hands. God, he _really_ hadn’t been expecting to have a conversation like this tonight. He and Georgie had shared a similar conversation before, the term _asexual_ being thrown about, but Jon hadn’t considered it much further after that. Hadn’t really had much of a reason to, until now.

He released a deep breath. He hadn’t realised how much the expectations for tonight had been weighing him down. Now that it was gone, he felt untethered, as if he could float away any moment.

That had to mean there was _some_ merit to the things Martin was saying, right?

And if Martin really didn’t mind … if everything they had built together was already enough ...

The knot in his throat had begun loosening.

Smiling, Martin leaned forward to kiss him one more time.

“I have to say,” he said as he pulled away, “picking lasagne and wine was a _terrible_ idea if you wanted to have sex later. I would have passed out right in the middle of it.”

Jon chuckled, weightless. “I guess a light fruit salad just didn’t strike me as right for setting the proper mood.”

“And greasy, cheesy Italian food did?”

“Are you _complaining?_ ”

“Absolutely not, it was an amazing meal. I’m just saying. Now,” he clapped his hands together, “how about you and I finish off that delicious wine and watch some telly, eh?”

That did sound rather lovely. Standing, they went to retrieve their wineglasses before settling down more permanently on the sofa. It really was quite a delicious vintage. He was glad it didn’t go to waste.

When they had polished it off, Jon had to admit Martin had a point about the whole _passing out in the middle of it_ as he found himself fighting quite ardently against drifting eyelids. He snapped up with a jolt when Martin touched his shoulder.

“Come on, then,” Martin said, patting his lap. Jon tilted his head, but allowed Martin to pull him until his head was resting on the plush pillow of his thigh. Martin dragged a thumb across the shell of his ear, eliciting a small, pleased sigh.

“You did a really good job tonight."

Jon's lips twisted, but he refrained from commenting. Compared to the fantasies he had, it didn’t feel like he had done a very good job at all. But, if he were to really think about it, those fantasies never really got past the romantic dinner and a vague idea of Martin’s lips and hands, anyway.

If he were to look at it from that perspective, just the dinner, just the gentle touches, perhaps the night could be considered a success after all?

Martin carded his hand through Jon’s hair, nails lightly scraping just underneath his ear. Jon allowed his eyes to slide shut.

Yes.

This was perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr [@athina-blaine](https://athina-blaine.tumblr.com/).


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